Once Upon a Slayer
by Vixxen
Summary: Angel reflects on his Slayer's death. Written before the beginning of S5, actually, and follows along with the story pretty well. (B/A) *COMPLETE*
1. This Mourning

Once Upon A Slayer. 

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. I promise. Not even the plot, really…but the words are!   
  


"Love given or love taken is never lost. Once you've loved someone, the love is   
always there, even after they're gone. Love is the thing that endures.   
Mountains are torn down, built up, and torn down again over millions and   
millions of years. Seas dry up. Deserts give way to new seas… But love is a   
force, an energy, a power… Love is like a ray of sunlight, traveling for all   
eternity through space, deeper and deeper into infinity; like that ray of   
light, it never ceases to exist. Love endures."  
  
-Darkfall.  
  
  
Part One: This Mourning.   
(Angel's POV.)   
  
"Somehow, they'd survived. It had been one of the most difficult days of their lives. The ultimate price had been great, and it had been something to haunt them forever.   
Forever and a day. I'd promised her that.   
Thinking of her made me chuckle, made me think of the good times. Damn, the good times when she wasn't dead, when we weren't separated by highways and byways.   
Had there ever been a time when we were together?   
Ha, Once upon a time, hahaha…it was funny, in an abstract way.  
We'd just been once upon a time.   
And then here I was, standing beside her grave, my knees trembling, dying roses in his arms. How long had I stood here? Minutes? Hours? Days?   
It felt long than that. I checked my Rolex, and found it'd only been fifteen minutes.   
Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity.   
"Wow," A voice behind him interrupted his reverie, Damn…   
"Since when did you grave-sit?"   
"Cordelia." He spoke, it had been the first time for days.   
"That's my name, don't… um… overuse it…"   
She shrugged, and then glanced to the slab of stone next to me.   
"Having a chat with old Buffy? Possibly not a chat, could be a think…if she…"   
She then turned to look at me, and noticing my must-be obvious discomfort, paused…   
"… Thinks…"   
She grew silent, which caused us both to fall into another deep quiet, and nothing and nobody moved for a few minutes. Until…   
A hand poked from Buffy's grave, clawing through the dirt and leaves and false grass…   
A hand embossed with a glinting silver claddagh ring.   
Cordelia spotted it first, and began pointing emphatically at the grave.  
"Gah…gah…hand…Angel…hand…BUFFY!"   
And I turned; stunned to see the golden head of my beloved popping like a daisy from the dirt.   
I froze."   
"Buffy?"   
  
  



	2. The Realization

Disclaimer: Once again, only the words.

Part Two: The Realization.   
(Buffy's POV.)   
  
"The dirt was clogging my throat, covering my eyes. Old rose petals were pushing against my nostrils, smothering them with the stench of decaying flowers. It was a kind of spicy scent, slightly sweet, but at the same time disgusting and monstrous. I could smell the death that was slowly decaying my white sundress, which had now been reduced to tattered and dirt smeared strips. Above and below me, I could sense the hard black wood of the coffin, thin but strong. It was better than a cardboard coffin; that I could guarantee. I wouldn't be dug up for a long time. Idly, I began to wonder how long it would take for my body to die. I didn't know how my spirit had been pulled back into this rotting corpse, but it had infected it with a strange revitalization that made this vessel heal, slowly. And now…  
It seemed as if I needed air. The dirt and petals that were choking me were becoming fatal, and the stale air in the coffin wouldn't last long. Not only this, but I was hungry. So hungry. I craved things I never had in life, seafood, caviar, fine lobster in butter sauce… it seemed so delicious to me. I needed it, and I couldn't find it.   
Right about now, I'd give anything for a juicy steak.   
Then again, there was my escape. Up above, beyond this hole in the ground. So I went. Clawing at the dirt that leaked through the cracks in the coffin, pushing at the wood with my fingertips, punching it, and finally infiltrating it through a crack. I smashed my hand through the splintered wood, making a hole large enough for my head. Slamming my elbow into the side of it, I succeeded in making it large to fit my torso through. Absently, I noticed that I was thin. Too thin. Making a mental note to stop drinking slim fast, I continued. Now I easily clawed through the loose dirt above me, and finally…finally…poked my head through. And emerged, like a deranged butterfly from it's cocoon.   
The first thing my eyes set upon was him. Him.   
Why is it always him? In some tired, exhausted way, I didn't want to see him. And in another excited, relieved way, I wanted to collapse into his arms forever.  
Instead, I pulled myself out of the grave, and fell upon the cold, hard, dirt. No welcoming arms this time. He only stared. And said one. Single. Word. "Buffy?"" 


	3. Absence of Mind

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Part Three: Absence of Mind.   
(Cordelia's POV.)   
  
"In the words of some great philosopher, or another smart guy, grief can kill. I've seen it happen *way* too many times. Not necessarily to me, or to people I know, but hey. I watch Extra. Some famous person is always dying, and causing a huge stir in Tinsel Town. God, I never thought I'd see Angel grieve like this. Somebody once said grief is like a knife, with a really sharp edge. I guess for Angel, it's a really sharp stake. Whatever it is, it's killing him. And if something hurts him, it's gonna hurt us. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm all sad about Buffy dying…but…it's scary seeing him act like this.  
The last time this happened, Hurricane Buffy had arrived.   
Kind of figures that it's always about her, huh? Well, anyway, I'd followed him here. To Shady Hill Cemetery, in Sunnydale California. Buffy's grave is really really nice, under a willow tree and all. If you saw how many flowers were on her grave, there'd be no doubt in your mind that she's loved. It's a little bit strange, though. Her grave is separated from everything else, and you have to snoop around a lot to find it. It's nowhere near her mother's. It took me a while to track it down, and once I finally arrive…he was there. Dressed in black, as usual, and holding roses in his arms. He towered over the gravestone like the goddamned empire state building, hair ruffled by the wind. I decided not to lay my hand on his shoulder. Intimate touch did not look like what he needed right now. In fact, what he needed was six feet under. Six feet under and encased in a wooden box. She was right in front of him, she was under him, and she was floating around in some alternate universe that he would never see.   
I'd always wondered what would have happened if she'd only gotten there a few minutes earlier…if Demon Guy With Knife hadn't cut Dawn. Would she be okay? Would I still be standing here, watching my best friend's spirit die? Since this is Sunnydale, I probably would. Some demon would have kicked her ass for the final time, since you can't escape you fate. Try and change an element of it, and you'll end up with a whole new story line. I guess Buffy's destiny was laid out for her already. If one thing, Buffy really got jipped by destiny. She got the short end of the straw, or whatever.   
And 'cause of that, 'cause she 'forgot' to call for help, we all get left to pick up the pieces of what once was Angel. And Giles, and Willow, and the rest of the Scooby Gang.   
I really shouldn't be mad, though. I mean, I'm here. The world is still intact. And yet, she's not. She sacrificed her life—again—for everyone and didn't even think twice about it. Even though I hate saying this, I wish I could have her bravery. It gets old being the mean one after a while. When you lose all your so-called friends because of a guy, it begins to get old. When your parents lose all of their money, you get tired. And when you discover that you're not such a hit in Hollywood, the jig is most definitely up.   
I think I've put in my two cents, though. You don't want to hear anything more about how much I adored my old life, huh?   
To continue with the Angel Brooding saga, I decided there was a better way to make him come a little out of his shell. I emphasize on a little.   
I spoke, and the only thing that came out was one dumb word, "Wow."   
He flinched, and I almost regretted talking.   
"Since when did you grave-sit?"   
He almost turned then, but kept his eyes on Buffy's grave.   
"Cordelia."   
"That's my name, don't…uh…overuse it."   
Yep, give me a pat on the back for really sucking at conversational tactics. I shrugged, and glanced to the ever-popular tombstone.   
"Having a chat with old Buffy? Possibly not a chat, could be a think…if she…" I paused, watching as his fists clenched at his sides with discomfort, and how he shifted his feet.   
"…Thinks…" I then grew silent, and he didn't move. Nothing stirred for a few minutes…   
Until a hand groped it's way from Buffy's grave. A hand with the emblem of Angel-ness, the silver claddagh ring. He obviously didn't notice it, since he was too absorbed in his thoughts and gazing mindlessly at a tree. I began to point emphatically at the grave…   
"Gah…gah…hand…Angel…hand…BUFFY!"   
He turned, just in time to see Buffy's head pop out of the grave, as she pulled herself with quaking arms out of the dirt-filled hole. She collapsed on the ground in a heap, and I gaped.  
Angel said one word.   
"Buffy?"   
…I really hate it when this happens."


End file.
